PIGS HAVE FLOWN

Over the past few years my family has become obsessed with Mexican food...it's all "oh, El Sarape this" and "El Sarape that." Though Mexican food makes go a runnin', it wasn't really my problem since I was living it up in D.C., keeping all of the Chinese food places in business.

We went out on Sunday to celebrate an occasion, and since 5 out of 6 J's love Mexican food, El Sarape was where we headed.

To make a long story short, I gamely got the steak fajitas, and they were absolutely tasty. And I had some of my older brother's mango chicken, and that was also tasty. For the first time ever I left a Mexican restaurant without feeling starved or dissatisfied.

Oh, and lately I've been guzzling carbonated water like it grows on trees. I used to hate that crap (I remember accidentally buying it at a rest stop in Italy senior year of high school and almost crying when I figured it out— too late — on the bus), but I learned to love it when I realized that it's just water made with "natural flavors" - no calories, sugar, fake sugar, or anything. I turned to it one day when the store was out of Sprite Zero.

So, I guess...some things do change, even when you think they're set in stone. What a delightful surprise!

Sunday, June 22, 2008

FTS!!!!

So...I really think one of the most important qualities one can possess is the ability to cheer oneself up. Knowing which songs to play, which books to open, which stupid little things can snap you out of a funk, at least momentarily. And then those moments string into minutes and then those minutes gradually float away and you stop being so negative and pessimistic.

Along those lines, I've recently re-discovered Galway Kinnell...I remember reading his poems a few years ago and really feeling that he struck a chord.

I swear to you, it was just my wayof cheering myself up, as I lickedthe stamped, self-addressed envelopes,the game I hadof trying to guess which one of you, this time,had poisoned his glue.

I love that sort of morbid imagination...and for me it really brings the character to life.

He has this other poem...which I copied and pasted here. It's so sweet.

After Making Love We Hear Footstepsby Galway Kinnell

For I can snore like a bullhorn or play loud music or sit up talking with any reasonably sober Irishman and Fergus will only sink deeper into his dreamless sleep, which goes by all in one flash, but let there be that heavy breathing or a stifled come-cry anywhere in the house and he will wrench himself awake and make for it on the run - as now, we lie together, after making love, quiet, touching along the length of our bodies, familiar touch of the long-married, and he appears - in his baseball pajamas, it happens, the neck opening so small he has to screw them on, which one day may make him wonder about the mental capacity of baseball players - and flops down between us and hugs us and snuggles himself to sleep, his face gleaming with satisfaction at being this very child.

In the half darkness we look at each other and smile and touch arms across his little, startling muscled body - this one whom habit of memory propels to the ground of his making, sleeper only the mortal sounds can sing awake, this blessing love gives again into our arms.

Wednesday, June 18, 2008

timing is still everything

Having wandered away from my usual 9-5 employment schedule, I've fallen behind on my daily sites. While perusing xkcd a few minutes ago, I came upon this comic...

I love it. And this comic reminds me that it's been a while since I've done the whole "re-assess my fun goals" thing.

So. Here they are. Still shooting for a hot air balloon ride in the fall. Learn how to quilt (sexy. I know). Go on a fun trip—travelzoo's machu picchu trip had me daydreaming all day today. Learn how to drive a stick, change the oil in a car, change a tire. Get a job, eventually. Don't settle (ESPECIALLY in the job realm, but in all areas). Do more diving, as in, you know, actually dive. Hit up the beach more often. Keep running.

Just when I think I'm going to stop blogging, some stranger steps into my life and cracks me up. Last night Tans and I were on the train heading back from happy hour. She got off at her stop, and I continued CHOWING down on my can of Sour Cream & Onion Pringles (eating Sour Cream and Onion chips without fear of bad breath = a massive perk of being single). Due to my...klutziness, shall we say...when I made another grab in the can, I knocked it out of my hands and the contents cascaded all over the T floor by my feet. I said, "ohhh nooooooo" and bent over and started shoving the poor, sad, broken chips into a pile, then forced them back into the can.

This guy a few seats away...who before had not said a word or interacted with me at all...suddenly broke the silence, and said, in a kinda scared tone, "You're not going to each those....right?!"

I started laughing and said that me dropping it was probably a sign from God that eating half a can in one night was enough, and said that I was just picking them up. I love that this guy was so worried about my state and health that he spoke up to prevent what he thought was an inevitable and serious health violation in the making.

On a sidenote, it really illustrates why WMATA is so nazi about its patrons not eating on the Metro. "Would YOU pay $100 for a candy bar? I know I wouldn't."

Though the jury is still out in a lot of ways on the Boston vs. D.C. question, I'll take my food with a side of rats over sneaking fries in my pocketbook anyday. Or throwing away iced coffee after a 5:30 a.m. flight because the Reagan station manager won't let me on the Metro. Can you believe they actually have Dunkin Donuts INSIDE the Boston T stations?! It feels so illicit.

Tuesday, June 10, 2008

The World is Just Awesome

This past Sunday there was a family party...one of my cousins graduated from high school. It was so nice to be there, drinking beer, playing Baggo, and stuffing my face with the best of them, instead of getting the postgame re-cap from my mom over the phone while I swallowed the bitter pill of the singletons, ramen.

I really miss D.C. and all of my friends, but I haven't yet regretted moving home. Well, the first Saturday was really tough when you guys were at the movies and happy houring it up and my parents were at a party that I wasn't invited to...but that was just a rough spot.

Tomorrow I start a new job! It's only part time...like, 15 hours a week. So, really, really part time. But it's an editing job for a small weekly paper, which is kind of neat (though it sounds awfully familiar, you know?). I was hired on a contract, temporary basis. As I understand it (though I might stand corrected tomorrow), I'll work for them as long as I want to, and as long as they want me to. I don't see this gig as being possible once I get a full time job, so I'll probably sail out around then, if they don't find someone permanent before that. At any rate: it's a fun job, in my field, working alongside people who will have things to teach me. Which is pretty great for the moment.

I'm not really feeling the burn yet for a full time job. Right now I'm fantasizing about an endless summer of sorts, flitting around the Cape, Maine, and various New England ports. We'll see what happens...as someone said last night, you never know what's in the future.

Speaking of the future: HOUSTON THIS THURSDAY!!!! I'm bringing my camera, so hopefully I'll get some uber Texas shots of hats and boots and whatnot. Do they have tumbleweeds in cities? I can't wait for the visit. Except that I'm ridiculously sensitive to the heat and I might pass out or otherwise embarrass myself. So maybe there will be a random cool spell? Surely odder things have happened.

OH—today Bub and I went out to breakfast. There were tons of delicious options, so I asked the waitress if she recommended the pecan praline french toast or the coffee cake pancakes. She made a big painful sigh, as if the answer was too difficult to possibly decide, and replied, "Well, let me see if I can get you one of each."

And she did! Sometimes people are so warm and generous that it redeems the dastardly deeds of everyone else. And have you seen the "The World is Awesome" commercial on Discovery? It makes me love the whole world...

Thursday, June 05, 2008

OH CRAP

I've received comments such as "Geez, you're not even working, can't you blog?"

The truth is, I've been ridiculously busy. Until today I hadn't even watched .5 hours of daytime TV. Tragic.

My parents' puppy is adorable...his name is Seamus and he's a Wheaten Terrier. For the past few months I've been hearing stories of how he's an incorrigible crapper, deliberately dropping "deposits" whenever my mom's back is turned. He's been pretty angelic since I've been home—I don't think he went to the bathroom in the house once during the past week. It was a major improvement that granted Seamus "gate down" privileges, permitting him to have access to the house without the constant scrutiny of our prying eyes.

Last night he was on one of his energetic tears around the house, running under the dining room table, weaving around the chairs, bouncing up on top of an end table (almost knocking it over in the process), barreling into our laps...fairly entertaining. He ran upstairs, continuing the mad streak, sounding like a poltergeist. I was with my mom and bub downstairs, watching tv...as I was cracking up, Bub goes, "Yeah, it's funny until he poops in your room."

I don't know if he was speaking from experience?

That cut my laughter short, just a little, and I decided to go upstairs to see what the cute little devil was up to. As I reached the top landing, I was faced with an overwhelming stench emanating from my former bedroom. Well, technically "former" since I sleep on the third floor now, but I still have lots of stuff in there. Lots and lots of stuff.

Absolutely horrified and near the gagging point, I crossed the threshold of my room. My first glance to my bed calmed some of my fears: nothing on the sheets or, God forbid, the pillows.

Then I looked down.

THE STUPID DOG HAD CRAPPED ON TOP OF MY WORKOUT PANTS.

A square shot!!! Not like, a pant leg accidentally had wandered into the pile as he skedaddled out of there. He had stood on my freaking pants and pooped his little heart out. And then when he was done doing that, he went to a rug by my bed and repeated the accursed process.

I stared at it, disbelieving. Could it be true? Did he really try to make working out that much more miserable by smearing my clothes in feces? Realizing that there really wasn't any alternative, I gingerly grabbed my pants (dry-heaving in the process) and brought them downstairs, where I summarily dropped them into a trashbag. And then I grabbed the rug (it was old and used to be a bath rug anyhow, I have no idea why it was in my room in the first place) and tossed that into the trash as well.

I know it sounds very J.C. from *Nsyncish (during their heyday he never wore socks or underwear twice), but those pants were 9 bucks. I was willing to let them go. I couldn't deal with the graphic images that I now associate with them. And to think that I used to think that a piece of plastic poop was a funny gag.

So, C-note, I'm sorry to say that we'll never again be connected by our navy with pink stripe workout pants. They had a good run.